


Aero

by HouseOfFinches



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 05:11:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13804116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseOfFinches/pseuds/HouseOfFinches
Summary: Smut???Vision and Wanda sitting next to each other on the jet ride home. Pre-civil war, established sexual history.





	Aero

Days were stoic, full of practiced neutrality, an air of indifference. His true feelings were reserved for nights, for the solace they found in the darkness, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Yet here she was, her head against his shoulder, her breathing even, radiating warmth against his side.

The mission had called for the use of the jet, taking the group hours away to fight, to defeat, and then make the hours’ long trek back.

Vision recognized Wanda’s newfound strength, enjoyed the way she was growing. She utilized her powers effectively, a sense of assuredness to her movements, her attacks. She was formidable, as he’d always known, but now it was a knowledge she felt too, and it resonated in her stride, in the shifting of her fingers that twirled the red ribbons of her magic.

He caught Natasha glancing over her shoulder, her face passive but for the crease between her brows. She shifted her gaze forward again, hiding whatever impression she had of the witch sleeping soundly against him. It certainly could be chaste, a product of friendly trust and exhaustion. He hoped that he had given nothing away, had hid the easy comfort that her presence gave. He denied himself the urge to stroke her hair, her skin; certainly that denial was a high enough price to ensure their secret remained safe.

The others in the jet paid no attention to him or Wanda, all either lost in thought or asleep. The earlier fight hadn’t been difficult, but humans, he knew, were subject to the fatigue of spiked adrenaline.

Minutes passed and the quiet hum of distant conversations ceased, easing into a steady drone of the jet’s engine. Vision was fairly certain that even Natasha had given into sleep, if the rate of her breathing and the tilt of her head were any indication.

He felt Wanda stir beside him, her hand slowly spreading across his thigh. It was tempting to turn to her, to draw her closer, to meet her lips with his. He opted to remain still, to focus his sight forward, remain inconspicuous.

Her breathing changed into a pattern he recognized as awake, but she didn’t change position, her temple still resting against the curve of his arm. He stole a glance downward at her face; her eyes remained closed. Anyone looking at her now would assume she was still asleep. And, as he knew, she had the ability to keep tabs on the others, to know if they would turn to look at her. He guessed that played a role in her brazen trek up his thigh.

Her fingers traced dangerously higher. He caught himself holding his breath: he was no exhibitionist but there was a thrill to her secret caress in the midst of the close proximity to their team. He felt himself strain against the confines of his pants—he may not be subject to fatigue from battle like his teammates but he was as susceptible to things like hormones and dopamine and a pretty witch’s seductive touch.

She splayed her fingers across his hardness, outlining the shape of him slowly, drawing out the sensation of her heat seaping into the fabric that pulled tantalizing tight against him.

She paused her delineation, reaching to find his hand with hers. She gave a light squeeze before drawing his hand up, slowly guiding his fingers between her now slightly parted legs. He risked a look at her face and found her looking up at him, eyes wide with desire, cheeks flush from the rush of blood.

He gave in, watching as her eyes closed as he stroked her over the material of her thin pants. He could feel her heat, her pants humid with want. He wished now that they were alone, that he could fully submerse himself in her, to taste her, to feel that heat engulf him.

She returned her hand to his lap, squeezing him roughly, the barrier of his pants restricting her access. It occurred to him then, when the material between them heightened his frustration, that he might allievate that hassle. He first focused on his fingers against her, allowing his density to shift—just enough—to feel her flesh against the pads of his fingers. He felt her jump at the new sensation, her ministrations faltering. He was unable to prevent the smile that spread across his face—her pleasure was his undoing, always. She was hot and wet, subtly moving her hips to meet him as he dipped inside her.

Next he focused on the material preventing her fingers from wrapping around him: he willed the atoms lighter, letting her hand dip into the fabric like water. He fought a groan of pleasure as her warm palm finally gripped him, her pace matching his, a hushed dyad of simple gratification.

He worked hard to maintain his focus on her, her fingers threatening to break his concentration. He kept a steady rhythm, dipping into her while stroking, enjoying the way her breathing sped, the way her grip on him tightened.

She turned into him, teeth piercing his deltoid as she swallowed back her moan. She held his hand still against her as her breathing returned to normal, her release leisurely, subdued, lost in the sleepy haze of the cabin.

He throbbed against her fingers, an unconscious reminder calling for more, to feel her grip tighten around him. She obliged, the pull of her lips hinting at a smile that he saw in his periphery. He let his head lean back into his seat, eyes sliding closed as he succumbed to the sensation of her, the rhythmic pump of her slender fingers over his aching length.

Turbulence rocked the jet, a jostling that he knew would waken his teammates. The knowledge of his dwindling time sped him on, bringing him to the edge and quickening his breath. He gripped the edge of his seat, needing to redirect that energy somewhere, anywhere but his vocal cords, the rush of his release a wave that threatened to pull him under, render him unconscious to the pleads he might utter—her name, how much he loved her, how he would always need her in every way.

When she was sure of his climax, she released him, returning her hand to her lap and sitting up straight, the connection between their bodies severed, all atoms returned to their normal states.

He heard the murmur of his stirring teammates, a quiet wash of complaining taking over the cabin.

He let himself rest a while, eyes still closed, until another bout of chilled air left the jet rocky again. Wanda reached out to him, an unconscious gesture, her hand gripping his. He opened his eyes to look at her and found Natasha staring back at them again, gaze lingering on Wanda’s fingers laced around his wrist. He thought he caught a glimpse of a smile before she turned forward again.

At least, he thought wryly, it hasn’t been _him_ that would give them away, after all.

 

 


End file.
